Maths fascination

•December 8, 2010 • 1 Comment

As he had predicted,
my Grandfather shed
his slumped shadow, which
reflected again
and back again;
caught in the triptych of mirrors,
skirted with frothing, peach coloured
He shrunk himself,
inch by inch –
a perfect mathematical illusion
repeated neatly forever,
a proven hypothesis.


(Time is not linear- Paul Squires)

Happy birthday Paul Squires.

•November 19, 2010 • 3 Comments

I see you. Don’t think you’re beyond seeing, old man, high up there in the larch, swinging your legs and whistling and throwing larch cones at the pretty girls who walk underneath, grinning like a cheshire cat.
I see you.
I hear you, Squires, laughing softly as you stir up a storm in a virtual teacup, as endless and looping as those very concentric circles that you went on and on about, looping and endless. All for fun yet so serious.
Your time machine stands in the corner. Someone has filled it with boxes left over from a jumble sale and wrapped it in christmas lights. We’ll sort through it one day when it’s rainy and we’re bored.
I know you know we loved you, pain in the arse that you could be, linking arms tonight and drunkenly swaying to a strange sort of Auld Lang Syne of Happy slurring purriness, bouncing about in black and orange stripes and doing a crap rendition of the hokey-kokey.
I smell you, uncle, sea salt and cigarettes swirling quietly around the bookcases while I type, mingling with every word~ urging me on.
That piano, the one with the famous musicians, the one where we all took a turn and sang and danced and that duck, that poor, strangely placed duck. I’m laughing now, properly laughing.
all those things.


•November 8, 2010 • 2 Comments

sends forth fronds from the west.
ripped red-ribbon beacons bekon,
the deathcries of sunlight stripe the sky.

Children are restless in their beds-
lulled to dream-laden sleep by
crispleaf lullabies rattling the ash branches~
the dry-breath whispers of the dead.
Mist lingers heavyheaded,
swathed in mourning shrouds.
Worms retreat deeper down,
delving headfirst from the frost
that creaks and creeps, clasping at life ~
shooting crisp whisps of death
through the last tender-veined shoots.

In the murmering woodland
spirits veil the larches with dewspangled
taunting the moon with pearls and opals,
treasures left behind to soothe the wind.
The darkening sky lowers its limbs;
soothing the hills with an indigo touch
and a whispered secret of spring.

quartz shard sparks

•October 13, 2010 • 3 Comments

Heaving granite looms gloomily, through
moonlighty mist drifts.
Here, in the land of hollow women;
bouldering  enormity~shadows  rule the ruinous remnants~

chips from the old, old block; (rage encrusted
and fossil-stamped) crouch in crevices,
learning the ways of their magma-veined daddy.

like a swift.tipped sewing box,
button rocks (Worn away in situ; Scattered love, 
pin pierced with starlight – a measure of days,)
roll away across the spagnum moss.



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